


I've dreamt about you (nearly) every night this week

by ImberReader



Series: Do I wanna know (if this feelin' flows both ways)? [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, At least Jaime is - whereas Brienne's a Makeup Artist, F/M, Jaime/Brienne Monthly Madness, Mutual Pining, Mutual Pining March, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: The hour is too late, Jaime is tooshirtlessmuch on their videocall and Brienne's fantasies run away from her at mention of 'pillowtalk'.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Do I wanna know (if this feelin' flows both ways)? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619905
Comments: 36
Kudos: 123
Collections: J/B Monthly Madness: March 2020





	I've dreamt about you (nearly) every night this week

**Author's Note:**

> After almost 3 entire months, I am back with next installment to series most people have forgotten about! As one does. But it's Mutual Pining March. I can't not post even a single thing. 
> 
> Much thanks to [sdwolfpup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdwolfpup/pseuds/sdwolfpup) and [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde) for their encouragement to tackle this particular draft again, and in general. And to [Aviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss), for her general mental support when I didn't know when I'd write again, if at all! 
> 
> Title for fic and the series as always from [Do I wanna know](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM&) by Arctic Monkeys. But written in good part to Tamino's cover of [I bet you'd look good on the dancefloor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hD59oUpZ1E0). (Hnngh.)
> 
> Not beta-d. We embarrass ourselves publicly like men. But shout out to lovely nire for looking over it! You can find me on [tumblr](https://scoundrels-in-love.tumblr.com/).

She misses Jaime.

It’s frustrating to admit, but true nonetheless. While Brienne _does_ enjoy the vibrating, ever-changing air of her profession, she discovered early that she needs at least a few reliable things in her life to keep her sanity and happiness. Working out on specific days, a call to her father at least once every two weeks, even if she has to keep it brief, a lengthy brunch with Sansa and (or) Margaery once a month or more often if their schedules allow it though they text and call each other plenty, are part of her subtle routine. 

Somehow, Jaime has become one such pillar of stability. Snuck his way deeper and deeper into her weeks with a wink and takeout box as he comes over for a movie night, with surprise visits to her set when they don’t share it. Embedded himself in countless ways that leave tiny holes through which blankness presses through, now that he’s gone for the third month, doing promotions for his newest movie and shooting a reality show in Dorne. 

It’s not the first time they’ve not seen each other for a while, but this is certainly the longest in the last two years. And so, she is lying in her bed, staring at her ceiling and trying not to think of how much she misses his voice and laughter, and _definitely_ not about the photos of him shirtless on beach that had been plastered all over yellow pages and Weirnet that he had the gall to forward to her with a cheeky comment how he can’t let her forget how handsome he is.

(As if she could, as if her dreams aren’t often invaded by his smile, the warm light in his eyes that’s one spark from incinerating, his breathy laughter in her ear, his hand slipping lower ... )

She finally wrestles _all_ the images away and feels sleep beginning to blur the edges of her thoughts when her phone begins buzzing. Her sleepy frown dissolves at _Jaime would like to start a videocall_. 

It’s a little later than their usual calls, but she accepts. If she’s got to end it soon, at least she can do so after smothering _some_ of her insatiable longing. “Hey Jaime,” she starts, but whatever was meant to follow dies on Brienne’s lips.

Jaime’s reclined on a pillow and he must be holding the phone with extended hand, as she can see most of his exposed chest, almost glowing in the warm light of lamps. Because he’s shirtless. And grinning at her in a way that’s a mix of faux innocence and glee, as if he knows exactly how her stomach leaped or maybe knotted up - she’s not exactly sure but it definitely _did_ something. 

“It’s hot in here,” he offers as an explanation and she hopes she hasn’t been silent for as long as she _thinks_ she’s been. She’s also utterly unconvinced and drops the phone to the side, much to his immediate protest, to shift her pillows so she can do this more comfortably and with less double chin inducing angles. Like seeing her face in the corner of the screen, compared to all, well, _that_ , isn’t enough of a reminder that her fluttering longings aren’t meant to survive the frost of reality. But the one time she tried to turn off her camera, Jaime protested so loudly it almost convinced her he misses _her_ face, too.

“It’s 11pm, Jaime, don’t you have early filming tomorrow?” she asks when she’s settled, trying to avoid looking at anything but his face, though it’s hard when the screen is comparatively small. Isn’t his arm getting tired?

“No. Besides, I just need to tell you what nonsense Lysa Tully pulled today - you know there’s no one else I’d rather complain to.”

She wants to joke that it’s because he has no other options anyway, but doesn’t because it’s _true_. Jaime cannot call his siblings to joke about the latest nonsense on set, Bronn would only ask for dirty parts, Addam’s probably predisposed with something of his own. Even Elia and Lyanna are not exactly available these days, enjoying their family holiday. Though he has found tentative friendship with some of her friends and co-workers, it’s not the sort for such late night talks. And in truth, there’s no one else she’d rather speak with after a long day, either. 

So, how can she deny him this? “Fine, I’ll bite. What did she do now?” 

One story turns into another and an hour later, they both have shifted to be laying down more comfortably (thank the gods, now she can lie to herself that she’s unaware how he’s shirtless beyond the frame). The conversation putters out bit by bit, replaced by warmth and sleepiness. Or perhaps it’s the first, the sense of safety, that brings about the second. 

“We should do pillow talks like these more often. In real life, too.” 

Suddenly, she feels _quite_ awake. And thankful the dim light hides the blush burning across her face. 

There is no way his word choice is deliberate, but the _want_ goes from thawed and simmering on low fire, to molten steel in a flash. It’s not just the images of him sweaty and mussed up that her brain unhelpfully provides based on his post-training looks, it’s also basking in warmth of his grin, discovering if she likes to be _genuinely held_ afterward, the softness of his voice and his hair as she would brush it out of his face, trace hand down his stubbled jaw that has left a pleasant burn across her--

The word holds too much promise, if only in her mind’s definition. And not one she can clarify with Jaime.

Especially since he loves to tease her, has outright told her he loves to make her flustered. Flirts only to see her fumbling reaction, just as Margaery does (even now, that she has proclaimed Brienne to be ‘tragically straight’). 

So, Brienne grasps at something safe instead. “You fell asleep on my shoulder last time you were over,” she reminds him, smiling a little at the memory. One of the reasons why they don’t R.aven movies together when they’re separated like this is because nodding off at end of second or third movie individually just isn’t the _same_ , compared to the way they slowly gravitate toward each other when sharing a couch until someone (usually Jaime) is falling asleep on the other. The other is that reading his typo riddled, rushed commentary and responding to it is incredibly distracting and makes Brienne miss half the movie. 

“Speaking of which, we both should go to sleep.” It’s past midnight and _he_ might not have an early morning (which Brienne doesn’t entirely believe), she actually does.

“Five more minutes,” he asks, not unlike a petulant child, but she doesn’t have the heart to deny this mutual indulgence.

Brienne doesn’t know when the five minutes turn into maybe twenty or thirty and when they dissolve into dreamless sleep, but she wakes up trying to nuzzle her face into the phone which definitely does not compare to the comfort of her pillow. The clock informs her it is almost 4am and upon unlock, the videocall goes fullscreen once more.

She can’t tell if Jaime propped his phone up quite so right before she fell asleep or after, which would mean he didn’t end the call when she nodded off. The thought should be uncomfortable, and there are definitely twinges of embarrassment as she had had to wipe drool away from the screen, instead she feels detached from anything but a tender longing that cocoons her thoughts, tangles them up and drags them away from any logic. 

Perhaps this sleepy, slow warmth is poison that will kill her, but Brienne is willing to risk it, just to stay in this kind of liminal, magical space in which their lives cross with the impossible reality where their pillowtalks adhere to her wistful definition. 

He has twisted away from the phone some, she can mostly only see the pillow, stump and his profile at an angle. For a while, she feels content just to watch him, taking in his relaxed features and the calm rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes, she has indulged in _looking_ when he falls asleep next to or _on_ her, but the urge to touch becomes too much quickly. (Work is where the best of both worlds cross paths and she has cover easily available, but at the same time her mind _is_ occupied with the task at hand.)

Here, she doesn’t have to cover the reason her touch lingers, is safe from waking the man with a finger tracing his lips or skirting down his neck to rest on his exposed chest. The thought of pressing kiss below his ear, to his collarbone, scraping teeth across the hollow of his throat doesn’t pull her closer to him like the world's most powerful magnet drags a huge, crude iron rod. (Merely because he isn’t tangibly there.) She can risk-freely think of the little noise he would probably make before opening eyes, pupils blown wide for more than the low light. “I thought we were supposed to sleep,” Jaime would say, voice husky like it sometimes dips when they’re alone in the makeup trailer, even lower still, but he would already be reaching for her. “Well, there _is_ more than one meaning to the word,” she would say and -- 

Brienne pushes the end call button with speed that outraces her heart. 

There are things that can be squinted at until they grow blurry enough to be seen as ‘we are friends and he _is_ a very attractive man, a stray thought or two is bound to happen’. (Though she has been with a friend, and it wasn’t even starlight during the day compared to the scorching sun that is Jaime.) And then there are moments that cross any and all borders of appropriate, of what she can afford. This is definitely of the second sort. Worse, not only it is the indulgence of the highest degree, it also skirts too close to being a creep. Shame washes away last threads of desire. 

Jaime deserves better than to be ogled while asleep and groped at in her fantasies. He is her _friend_ , with his confusing comments and heated gazes and face she cannot get tired of in or outside work, and a smile that can fill her with dread just as much as bone melting gladness. And she can’t, _can’t_ erase it from her life just because he is so lovable and so beautiful there is ache behind her breastbone, trickling all the way into her fingertips. 

She double checks if her alarm is on and then puts the phone on the bedside table. Tosses and turns in the dark, as if heaviness in her has somehow slipped into the mattress and made it all lumpy. But eventually, sleep reclaims her and when she wakes, a text from Jaime already waits for her (so much for not having an early morning): _What happened to call_

 _I guess it timed out or something. Maybe WiFi got temporarily disconnected._ she responds after a respectable amount of time, right before she drives to the studio. It’s only a white lie, far more innocent than the real reason. But that doesn't help her rapidly growing guilt, at all. 

He texts back almost immediately: _Shame wanted u to be the first thing I see when I wake up_

And if she replies only hours later, with a random update of her day, it’s definitely not because _me too_ rang so loudly in her chest that she forgot all other words. 

**Author's Note:**

> R.aven is direct ripoff of R.abbit (rest in stew). I am Jaime in my watching habits, if you're wondering. Press F for respect of the handful of dear friends who endure it with grace. (I'm looking at you, V.)
> 
> Also there are plans for at least 2 more pieces within this verse, though one is focused on another pairing and puts Braime as background. No promises it will take less than 3 months to get either of them done, but one can hope?
> 
> Let me know if you think I should bump the rating, I am not quite sure how it all works, at least that's what my anxiety tells me.


End file.
